Trial in the Tomb
by mynameisofnoimportance
Summary: Shekhtur seeks to test her newfound claw in Baroness Ancella's crypt, but soon discovers that the claw may be a greater threat than any ghoul.


"You don't want to go there. No one should. The place is crawling with nasties that'll set your teeth on edge as sure as they'll set their teeth on you."

Shekhtur Lenmorre found it hard to focus on the old man's words. He had a lazy eye that stared unseeing at the dark forest that lay nearby. There was something vaguely annoying in the way it lolled to the side.

 _Rip his throat out._

"Miss, is something the matter?"

 _Slash it._

Shekhtur's hand flashed out, quicker than the man could see. Then she smiled and said, "I'm fine. Thanks for the warning. I won't forget it."

The man nodded sagely and walked off, thinking he had saved another traveler from a grim fate. Shekhtur waited till he was gone to flip the gold coin that she had palmed off the man. She had problems stealing ever since she was a child. But tearing someone's throat out because he looked at her funny? That part was new.

It all started with an item she'd liberated from the dusty old Imperial Reliquary. The item turned out to be a cursed claw that latched onto her arm and wouldn't let go for anything. So she set out to find the person who asked her to retrieve it, hoping he'd know how to remove it. In the meantime, she needed a way to blow off some steam. And a haunted mansion filled with treasure and monsters sounded like just the thing.

Sequestered deep in the woods, Baroness Ancella's rundown abode looked more shack than mansion. But Shekhtur knew the bulk of the building was rumored to lay underground where the paranoid Baroness stored up all of her worldly possessions. Her spirit was said to still stalk the deep basement, an existence that served as a rebuttal to those who claim 'you can't take it with you.'

One could be forgiven for thinking the rumors false upon entering the mansion. The place was as empty as a vault after a visit from Shekhtur. The only evidence to the contrary was the loud moaning and gnawing sounds emanating from underneath the time weathered floorboards. It was compelling evidence.

It didn't take long to locate the heavy door that led to the lower levels. As Shekhtur descended a winding stone staircase, she heard a wispy voice that hissed, "Begone!" Shekhtur wasn't deterred. After all, it wasn't the first time she'd overstayed her welcome. The voice's owner was nowhere to be seen. There were, however, plenty of corpses.

Shekhtur would have stumbled over them had it not been for the unearthly light her claw emanated. The bodies ranged from young to old in varying states of decay. No doubt those who had been lured by the promise of things that glitter. Shekhtur was amazed that her nose had not noticed them earlier. In fact, the smell of decay was only starting to assault her nostrils. It was as if the bodies had not lain there until just recently, which of course, they had not. Before the first corpse began to shift and moan, Shekhtur had already realized that she was dealing with zombies.

Those whose legs still functioned shambled toward Shekhtur. The rest dragged themselves across the cold floor, leaving bits of fetid flesh behind in the cracked masonry. Shekhtur was rooted to the spot in horror. Horror that her opponents were so slow.

"I was really hoping for more of a challenge."

Shekhtur found no satisfaction as she tore through the horde. The dessicated flesh and brittle bone offered no resistance to the claw. It was like cutting string with a scimitar. Shekhtur knew she was done when the mangled mass' groans subsided. She left the room behind, its walls a fair sight messier than when she'd first entered. But her appetite for violence had only just been whet.

Imps were next on the menu. Drawn by the evil miasma of the mansion, they were more than happy to fight. They were faster but still disappointingly weak. Though, their flesh was firmer than the zombies. And their warm blood upon her skin felt good in the dank underground.

Shekhtur shook her head and spoke aloud, "Stop."

She had meant her little treasure hunt as a means of letting the fire inside her burn itself out, but the fighting had only added fuel. She decided it was time to turn back and looked up, only to find herself in a large chamber filled with half eaten skulls. Unbidden, her feet had carried her further into the tomb. In the corner of the chamber, twin pinpricks of light lit up in the gloom, and Shekhtur felt a guttural growl rattle her bones.

There are primarily two types of werewolves. There are the sort that may change from human to wolf at the flip of an unseen switch. Dangerous, but not necessarily unreasonable. And then there's the feral variety. Caught halfway between man and beast, feral breeds have been known to terrorize entire villages, their carnage only halted once the templars step in. Shekhtur found herself looking up at an eight foot snarling example of the feral breed. And she grinned.

Earlier doubts forgotten, Shekhtur launched herself into the fight. Her blows were matched or outright rebuffed. The werewolf was as fast as it was strong. They danced around each other for a brief time before Shekhtur made a nearly fatal error. She leapt in an attempt to slash the beast's face with her claw, but she was caught midair and flung back against the wall. The pain she felt was nothing compared to the anger building within her. The claw took in her malice and suffused her very sinew with tremendous strength.

If Shekhtur had been fast before, she was now lightning. She raked the monster's flesh three times before it could even howl in pain. The werewolf took a desperate swipe at Shekhtur, but the beast was like a statue to her. She sidestepped the swing and sliced through its entire arm. Shekhtur ripped the werewolf apart, spraying the air with a flurry of skin and fur. The way the claw bit into the flesh. The slight give as the claw caught on bone before tearing through. Shekhtur smiled a crimson smile.

Reason lost to her, she ran the rest of the way. It wasn't long before Shekhtur reached a vast treasure room. The heaps of gold and gems hardly fazed her in her crazed state. The only thing to shock her back to some level of awareness was the ghost of Baroness Ancella.

"I instructed you to leave. But if you insist on dying, I shall oblige."

Wisps of dark magic encircled the Baroness and began to release malevolent energy that burned to the touch. Shekhtur wasn't worried though. She already knew instinctively that her claw would be able to cut the Baroness' ethereal essence as easily as flesh. Nothing appeared safe from the claw's cursed magic. But Shekhtur felt something else accursed in the room. Something that resonated with the claw.

 _Show her true death._

Shekhtur struggled to ignore the murderous insisting in her head as she searched the room. There was a jewel atop one pile, darker than the shadows surrounding it. As if by sight, she knew there to be a tenuous ribbon that connected both ghost and jewel. Shekhtur fingered the gem, and the Baroness shrieked.

"That's mine!"

The ghost tried to blast Shekhtur, but was too slow. Shekhtur held the evil stone in her own evil claw. The Baroness became incomprehensible in her shrill tone. Shekhtur looked from gem to ghost, ghost to gem, and knew the Baroness to be cursed as Shekhtur herself had been. But to what degree Shekhtur could not tell.

As Shekhtur continued to elude the attacks, she weighed the options. To destroy the gem was to possibly set the ghost free. But the Baroness was clearly wicked. The vast treasure hoard was proof positive of her greed. She deserved the punishment of the claw, to be sent to whatever hell awaited. But was that Shekhtur's wish, or the lump of enchanted metal on her arm?

Shekhtur was angry. Angry at the monsters who attacked her. Angry at being cursed. But most of all, she was angry at the thought of being controlled. Shekhtur held the gem aloft and said, "Baroness, I release you."

The claw closed around the stone, shattering it into a thousand impotent shards. Before the Baroness was pulled off into the light, Shekhtur thought she caught a glimpse of the woman's true face. On it was writ a tired gratitude. And she was gone.

Shekhtur collapsed and let the malice drain from both her heart and body. The claw was powerful, but she wasn't going to let it push her around any longer. As Shekhtur stood on shaky legs, she resolved to use the claw for good causes until she found a way to remove it. Her mind resolved, Shekhtur began to load up with as much treasure as she could carry. Maybe she'd use the claw for good causes _and_ the occasional theft. No sense in letting a bad thing go to waste.


End file.
